


An Accident

by xwingsandarchers



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, Building Collapse, Gen, Impaled, Injury, Whump, Whump Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xwingsandarchers/pseuds/xwingsandarchers
Summary: Clarice's portal causes the building her and John are in to collapse on top of them. This would've been fine if John hadn't just had his powers taken away...





	An Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Very late gift to thehatmeister for the Winter Whumperland Fic Exchange 2017! Sorry for the wait and I hope you like it hat!

John came to with a groan.

“John?” came a voice that felt miles away and too close all at the same time.

The first thing he noticed was not the agony from his side, nor from his crushed leg or his arm, torn open and bleeding, or the gash on his head that dripped blood down his face, or even the thick, softly buzzing collar round his neck. It was how abnormally weak he felt and how… disconnected he was from the world. His powers were gone. When he tried to track, nothing happened. When he raised his arm and shifted a rock he felt the skin of his hand giving way to it as it moved, not staying firm like metal, like usual.

As panic crept in, the pain angrily made itself known to John’s dulled senses like fire to gasoline. He hissed and froze, utterly overwhelmed. He hadn’t felt pain since before his gifts developed when he was a kid, but even before then he’d never felt anything remotely comparable to this.

“John!” came the voice again, which he’d already forgotten about.

“I’m here,” he tried to say, but the sound came out as a hoarse, garbled mess through all the dust in the air and in his lungs.

A clattering from his right and he looked over and saw not only Clarice, clambering towards him, but also the wreckage of where they were trapped. He hadn’t even noticed his surroundings. It was dark and dusty and all he could see was debris, bricks, crushed furniture, poles and pillars and metal beams and so much _dust_.

“What happened?” he said dumbly when Clarice reached him, then, suddenly, “Your arm!” when he noticed the gash on her shoulder and the blood dripping down to her elbow.

“John, you’re- you’re lying there like _that_ and you’re worried about my stupid cut?” she asked, voice a higher pitch than normal. “I’m _fine_. You are not. You’re _really not_ ,” she added slowly, quietly. She lifted her shaking hands and froze with them dragging through her hair, her eyes wide and mouth sealed, face paling. “This is bad. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Her panic was practically palpable, and John wanted to reach out, say something, assure her it was okay, do anything to comfort her, but he couldn’t find the strength or the co-ordination or the right words.

Clarice’s hands fell to hover in front of her and her eyebrows bunched into a frown as she stared at the damage to John’s body. He hadn’t dared to look himself - wasn’t even sure he had the energy to raise his head to do so - and her expression didn’t encourage him.

“Ohhh my God. So much blood,” she murmured, tactlessly.

She took shaky breaths before pulling off her jacket and looking at him.

“I have to put pressure on that,” she said, and John wasn’t quite sure which _that_ she was referring to, but he nodded. “Gotta tie my jacket around the bottom.” She said it like it was a question. John nodded again, clueless as to what she was talking about. “Keep it still, right?” John hoped she was talking to herself.

And then her jacket and her hands were on his left side, _pressing_ , and John could do nothing but gasp at the pain, _so much pain_ , pain he was so unfamiliar with and didn’t know if he could handle.

He held his breath and she hurried. His side felt like it was being split apart at the contact, and he fought back a scream with gritted teeth.

His body tensed and his back tried to arch but with whatever was plunged into his side that was a very bad idea, and a long, drawn out moan escaped his lips before he could stop it as his wounds shifted and stretched. Whatever Clarice was doing was disturbing the thing lodged in his side, moving it and sending shockwaves of agony from his hip to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Clarice said, “almost finished-”

John’s right arm flew out before he could stop himself and he grabbed the first thing his hand touched - a detached table leg - and gripped it tight. Vaguely he noted how it didn’t collapse under his touch like usual, but that was at the very back of his mind at that moment.

His vision blurred and it was hard to breathe - no, he _couldn’t_ breathe - and his side was burning.

“Nhhh,” he moaned as fire pulsed through his entire left side, and then _finally_ Clarice let go.

John breathed deep, gasping breaths. It was still excruciating, but at least now the bulk of the pressure was gone. He caught a glimpse that made him nauseous - she’d tied her jacket around the base of a pole stuck right through his side, where blood poured down his hip and onto the debris under him and over his t-shirt - and quickly looked back up to the ceiling, breathing through his teeth.

Clarice fell back to sit on her knees, watching him. “Where else are you hurt?” she asked. John took a second to decipher the question in his sluggish brain, and then thought. The pain all just blurred into one, all down his left side where a wall of debris made it impossible for Clarice to get at anything besides the pole.

“My leg, arm, ‘nd head,” he murmured through the fog in his brain.

Clarice deflated, looking helplessly at his leg, trapped under a block of mortar bigger and heavier than her, and his arm, pressed too tight and jammed against the debris to his left. His forehead was dripping blood back into his hair, and the only thing she could do about any of his injuries was tear off her sleeve, wad it up and hold it to the head wound.

She crawled over and sat next to his head, one hand keeping pressure on the wound and the other resting on his arm in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. His body was taut with pain under her fingers, but his lack of powers was still very much evident by the way she could squeeze his arm gently and work her fingers hopefully soothingly into the muscle in a way she’d never been able to before. His eyes were closed under a frown and sweat was beading on his forehead.

“I can’t _do_ anything. We can’t portal out of here, it’s too cramped and dangerous, and neither of us have phones,” Clarice mumbled, more to herself than to John. “All we can do is wait to see who finds us first. If anyone finds us.” John listened to her, used her voice to hang onto consciousness.

He’d never had to work against his body before, and he wasn’t entirely sure how. He couldn’t do anything to ease the pain, couldn’t work through the thoughts in his head, couldn’t do much of anything, except listen to Clarice and try to stay awake. For her. He knew losing consciousness was bad with his head wound and the blood loss, knew from the times he’d had to help his friends. It was an entirely foreign experience to be the injured, not the worrier.

Clarice continued talking to herself, mentioning something about the collar round his neck, and John zoned out, listening to only her but taking no note of the words, trying to stay awake.

And then she paused. “John?” she whispered.

He nodded slowly, eyes still shut.

“They’ll find us, okay? They’ll find us and Caitlin will fix you up and you’ll be right as rain before we know it. You just gotta hold on for a while until they do.”

He nodded again, but opened his eyes with a wince. Breathed to summon the energy to talk. “What happened?” he asked for the second time.

Clarice sighed and her eyes flickered to the mess around them. “Sentinel Services ambushed us. They got us separated and they got a collar on you and you couldn’t fight them all off, so I portalled in, grabbed you and got us into this building to hide. But I was an _idiot_ and the portal hit a beam, or a pillar, or something, and the building came down on us.”

John shook his head automatically. “Not an idiot. You saved me.”

She scoffed. “I don’t call _this_ saving you. If I’d have just portalled us somewhere else this wouldn’t have happened.”

John frowned. Talking was difficult, but he’d be damned if he let Clarice keep thinking it was her fault. “If it wasn’t for you I’d… I’d be on my way to a prison right now. This is preferable.”

She smiled at him, but worry and guilt tugged at her features enough for him to see even in his state. The conversation wasn’t over, he decided. But they could continue when he wasn’t in so much pain.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell happened?”

Marcos shrugged helplessly, staring at the wreckage. “The building mustn’t have been strong enough to handle them portalling in.”

Lorna stood next to him. “You’re sure they’re under here?”

“I saw a flash of purple through the window. And where else would they be?”

Lorna shrugged, held out her hands. “I can try feel for the iron in their blood, see where they are and we can dig ‘em out before Sentinel Services comes back.”

“You think Clarice is okay?”

“John would’ve protected her,” Lorna answered automatically, but paused. “Though it’s weird that she hasn’t portalled them out yet.”

“Maybe she can’t do it in such a small space?” Marcos said, but Lorna had stopped listening. She was feeling the air with hands encased in green light, fingers twisting and wrists turning, eyes closed. Marcos kept quiet. After a moment, “ _Shit_.”

“What? Is she hurt?”

The green disappeared and Lorna spun to face him, eyes wide and panicked. “ _John’s_ hurt. They got a collar on him, and he’s bleeding a lot. There’s some… some kind of metal pole lodged in his side and his leg is- Marcos, we have to get them out now.”

Marcos’ heart sank, his body froze, his mouth went dry. _John_. John was hurt. He’d never seen him hurt before. Ever. This was impossible. “I thought they couldn’t take powers away with their collars yet?! Just suppress them?”

“Well, seems they’ve figured out how,” Lorna said, stepping forwards and holding out her arms to the wreckage.

Marcos spun. “Dreamer, call Caitlin, tell her to get over here,” he ordered, and Sonya struggled with her shaking fingers to grab her phone from her pocket. “Trader, keep a lookout. If you hear or see _anything_ call one of us.” Trader nodded, spared one last terrified glance at the wreckage, and began running to the corner.

Marcos turned back to Lorna. “Can you shift this?”

Lorna grunted. “There’s enough metal that I _could_ , but not safely. I’ll need some time.”

Marcos swallowed and nodded. If Sentinel Services came back they were goners. They’d beaten them after the wreckage only by the skin of their teeth and now they were exhausted, preoccupied, and down two players while the Services were undoubtedly going to return with reinforcements. They knew they’d never leave two of their own behind, Marcos realised with a bitter jolt. That’s the only reason they left.

Some of the bigger pieces of debris were shifting, rolling to the side and off the mighty pile pushed by metal surrounded by green, controlled by Lorna’s left wrist. Her other hand, lower down and palm facing upwards - and Marcos didn’t pretend to have a clue what her hands were doing when she did what she did - he guessed was holding up the metal from the bottom, protecting their friends.

“What if you just take off John’s collar from here? He could just break them out,” Marcos asked, feeling useless.

Lorna shook her head, eyes still closed and concentrating. “He wouldn’t heal. He doesn’t have healing abilities, his gifts are just muscle density and super strength. So if I take it off, he’d just become super dense and we wouldn’t be able to help him. No stitches, no setting bones, and probably we wouldn’t be able to get rid of that pole.”

“Damn.”

The irony of the fact that John would be most useful in this situation was not lost on him; he could’ve helped remove the debris while sensing Sentinel Services returning minutes before they were able to.

So when they heard the sirens, only a few streets away, they were going to need a miracle to save them.

 

* * *

 

 

John gasped suddenly, tensing up and groaning.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Clarice said, sitting up straighter, wide eyed.

John squeezed his eyes shut. “Vibrations,” he ground out. “Someone’s above us.”

“Marcos and Lorna and the others?” Clarice asked without thinking.

John shrugged, eyes still closed, still working through the pain as the pole, the wall of debris to his left, the ground under him, all shook and aggravated his wounds. “Clarice, if it’s - hnn - if it’s Sentinel Services, you gotta make a portal and go before they get you-”

“ _No_ , John,” she said firmly. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll portal us both, just…” She trailed off, thinking. “When they get rid of the wreckage on top of us and we can see if it’s them I’ll make a portal under you. It’ll hurt, but I’m not leaving you with them,” she said. “Besides, it might be Marcos and Lorna.”

John gritted his teeth. He hated not knowing. If he had his powers he would know everything going on up there, would know if he had to keep persuading Clarice. Though if he had his powers he wouldn’t have been impaled in the first place. If she took him with her to escape he’d just slow her down. Besides, if he was totally honest, medical care of any sort - including Sentinel Services’ - sounded great right about now.

As long as Clarice and his friends were safe, he didn’t care what happened to him.

 

* * *

 

“What happened?” Caitlin breathed, approaching Marcos with wide eyes, staring at the wreckage.

“Building fell on top of John and Clarice, John’s hurt,” Marcos answered.” I’ll explain the rest later, but Sentinel Services are on the way and Lorna’s about to lift up this whole pile, which might end badly but it’s the only choice we’ve got. Can you do your-” Marcos made a vague gesture “-nurse thing once they’re uncovered?”

Caitlin stammered, “I mean, yeah, I can, but- you said _John’s_ hurt? I thought he couldn’t get hurt?”

Marcos shrugged. “They got a collar on him, took away his powers. Get ready. As soon as we get them out we gotta run. Trader and Dreamer are bringing the car round.”

Caitlin looked over to Lorna, who was planting her feet firmly on the ground with one arm raised, hand in a fist. Green light swirled around her hands as she turned back, called, “You ready?”

Marcos nodded, stepping back a few steps and pulling Caitlin with him.

It took seconds.

Lorna’s fingers splayed out and she pushed her hand forward, before twisting her wrist so her palm faced the sky. As she did, a portion of the wreckage rumbled, debris crumbled from the top of the pile and rolled downwards, and all at once half of it all suddenly rose like a fountain and landed with a _crunch_ further away on the pile. Lorna growled, used both her hands to hold up the debris she’d moved and keep it from collapsing back into the gap she’d made. “Go! Now!” she yelled.

Marcos sprinted forward, totally trusting that Lorna wouldn’t let the debris fall on him, and clambered down into the wreckage out of sight. Caitlin followed as soon as she realised she should.

“Is he awake?” Marcos said, and Caitlin peered into the gap. Her heart sank. Any hope she had that she could just stitch something up, apply a bandage or two, or just give pain relief flew right out the window with one look at John.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight flooded in, making John flinch and turn away. He tried to raise a hand to block his eyes, but movement of any kind made the pain flare and he abandoned that plan, and he was left squinting up at the sky when a figure appeared over him, balancing precariously on some debris just above him. His heart skipped a beat, unsure if it was a Services agent or a friend, but when the person crouched down and John saw Marcos’ face he practically melted with relief. Clarice was safe.

“Kinda,” she said, answering a question John had missed. “He’s a bit out of it.”

“We have to get him out of here and go,” Marcos said, and the urgency in his voice set John on edge, even before he managed to decipher his words. “They’re coming back.”

Clarice scrambled to her feet, her hand leaving John’s arm. “He’s trapped under _that_ ,” she said, pointing to the block crushing his leg.

He could hear the sirens now. They’d never get him out in time. “J’st… leave me ‘nd go,” John said, waving a hand clumsily.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” said a voice that was undoubtedly Lorna’s. “No one’s leaving anyone behind.”

Then Caitlin was there and _when did she get there_ and she was gingerly making her way down to them, her face pale. “How do we move that?” she asked. “I can’t do anything until he’s out of here. Nothing that’ll help.”

John zoned out, let the voices wash over him. No one was talking _to_ him, which he was grateful for as there was no way he’d be able to understand them or reply, and he lay there, breathing slowly and deliberately at an attempt at controlling the pain.

At one point, Marcos put his hands on the pole in his side - which hurt so much, _too much_ \- and melted away the majority of the metal which left about a foot of it still stuck in him, presumably so they could move him easier. Only seconds after that the four of them, Clarice, Marcos, Caitlin, and Lorna from up above, struggled to push the weight off his leg. When they succeeded, with a loud _crunch_ that John couldn’t tell whether it came from the debris or his leg, he couldn’t help but scream. It was agony. Not only had the weight rolled over his ankle and crushed it, but gaining the feeling back into his leg was _not_ something he wanted, not in this instance.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, that’s the worst of it over now,” someone was murmuring beside him, their hand on his, and all he was sure of was that the voice did not belong to Marcos.

John barely had time to get his breath back before Marcos’ hands were under him, and then lifting. His wounds shifted. John gritted his teeth, felt glad that he was too weak at that moment for he feared he might’ve hurt Marcos if not.

Marcos began to move, and John couldn’t bear the pain of the pole suddenly moving, weight and gravity acting on his leg, agony flaring in his whole body, and his eyes slipped shut.

 

* * *

 

“Set him here, on his side,” Caitlin instructed. Marcos leaned into the car and, as gently as he could, placed John’s lifeless form onto the backseat. The pole, digging through his side front and back, was only visible to Marcos for a second before Caitlin pressed her own jacket around it, discarding Clarice’s now blood soaked one.

Marcos clambered into the seats behind them with Clarice and Lorna, while Trader revved the engine and tore out of the area just seconds before the flashing blue lights arrived.

“John? Can you hear me?” Caitlin said loudly, her hands occupied with tying her jacket around the pole to secure it. No answer. “Marcos, I need your jacket.”

Marcos hurriedly obliged, handing it over the seats. He watched and regretted it when nausea rose at the sight of John’s leg - bleeding profusely, very clearly broken, very obviously excruciating. Caitlin wrapped Marcos’ jacket around John’s leg from the knee down, tied it tightly.

“Can someone put pressure on that?” she asked, moving back up to John’s head. Lorna took one look at Marcos’ pale face and leaned over the seats herself, hesitantly pressing her hands on the parts of the jacket that were already darkening with blood. “John, if you can hear me open your eyes, okay?”

“Do we _want_ him conscious?” Clarice asked, just as pale as Marcos.

“He’s hit his head, probably has a concussion. It’s not good for him to be unconscious right now,” Caitlin said distractedly, pulling John’s arm from his side and glancing over the wound with a wince. Clarice glanced at her, then leaned forward over the chairs and hung over John’s head, her hair tumbling down over him like a barrier. She tangled her fingers into his hair and carded them through, her other hand returning to the task of pressing on his head wound with her old sleeve, whispering to him comforts and asking him to wake up. Caitlin looked over, nodded. “What medical supplies do we have at the base?” she asked Lorna and Marcos.

“Apart from the stuff we grabbed for Clarice, not much. Bandages, disinfectant - just really basic first aid stuff,” Marcos answered. “Whatever’s left over from when Trader got shot.”

“Alright…” Caitlin murmured. She checked John’s pulse, checked the jacket on his side. “I’ll have to get the pole out, set whatever’s broken in his leg, disinfect everything and stitch him up. But I won’t be able to do anything if that pole’s hit anything important, or really if there are _any_ complications. He needs a hospital,” she said, quieter.

Lorna shook her head. “He’s dead if he goes to a hospital. Sentinel Services will snatch him up the second he goes in.”

“I know that, but…” Caitlin sighed. “Lorna, there’s only so much I can do, and this- this is far more than I can handle.”

“You’re the best chance he’s got,” Marcos said. “The only chance.”

“Guys,” Clarice piped up. “He’s waking up.”

Caitlin spun, crouched behind Sonya’s seat, and leaned over John. He was frowning, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He let out a quiet moan. “John? Can you open your eyes for me?”

John turned his head slightly towards her voice, frowning. With a low groan, he opened his eyes slowly and squinted first at the seat in front of him, then up at Caitlin.

“Good, that’s good.” She slipped into nurse mode like it was second nature, all doubt gone from her face to be replaced with calm, albeit with a little worry tugging at the edges. “Try and keep your eyes open, and just focus on breathing, all right?”

John drew into himself slightly, grimacing. “ _Hurts_ ,” he whispered.

And Caitlin realised. “John, have you- have you ever been hurt before?” He shook his head minutely. “Have you ever felt pain before?”

“Not since I… since I was a kid,” he breathed.

Fear raced through Caitlin. She couldn’t handle this. _John_ couldn’t handle this. This was too much for anyone, never mind someone who’d never felt pain and was going to be treated by a single underqualified nurse with almost no pain relief and a bunch of mutants with no medical background whatsoever.

And then she squashed down the fear and showed no more. There was no choice here, not for her nor John nor anyone.

“That’s okay. What you have to do is focus on breathing, keep it nice and easy. Copy Clarice’s breathing, she’s right above you,” she said. John turned sightly and spotted Clarice, and when he did his whole body relaxed visibly. “That’s it, try and relax. We’ll be back at base in-” she glanced out the window “-about five minutes and we’ll get you some painkillers then.” She tried not to think about the severe lack of painkillers they had at base.

“’S everyone okay?” he asked, unbelievably.

Lorna scoffed. “Everyone’s okay except _you_ , man. Don’t worry about us for like, five seconds, okay?”

John smiled weakly, nodded.

The car hit a bump. At the speed Trader was going they all bounced an inch off their seats. John cried out as his wounds were jarred and the pole moved, his hand flying to his side instinctively only to hover above it with a white-knuckled clenched fist. “Easy, easy,” Caitlin soothed while Clarice raked her hands through his hair and whispered.

When finally the car stopped outside their base a few minutes later, Clarice hopped out first.

"A portal to the vault?" she asked.

"No, no, to a bed," Caitlin said. "We don't wanna move him any more than necessary, and when we get the collar off we won't even be able to."

"The beds on the second floor are the sturdiest. Plus there are windows so you can see where to portal," Lorna added, and Clarice dashed off into the headquarters with Sonya. A minute later, a portal appeared right in front of them.

John groaned as Marcos again lifted him into his arms, but this time it was only seconds. Once out of the car, Marcos turned and stepped right into the portal, bringing them to the second floor of the headquarters and next to a camp bed that Sonya was fixing up. She added two pillows to make him comfortable with the collar and Marcos gently set him down, on his side. While John fought to get his breath back from the movement, the others followed through the portal and Caitlin ran to wash her hands, and Marcos spun to address the mutants around them.

"Guys, please stay away from this area for a while. Go downstairs or just- just give us room if you stay up here. If there's anyone with gifts that can help, speak up. If not, please keep away and we'll answer all your questions later."

The dozen or so mutants stood and, for a moment, could only watch and murmur worriedly amongst themselves. Then most of them slowly made their ways downstairs, gasping on the way by as they caught glimpses of John.

Clarice closed the portal and immediately crouched at John's right side. She pushed her fingers into his hair again and he relaxed into the touch ever so slightly. "You're okay," she whispered, helping far more than she knew to keep him calm. He latched onto her voice, her touch, and tried to focus on anything else other than the pain.

Caitlin returned with a syringe and a small bottle. She said to Marcos and Lorna, "This is all we have for painkillers, I think. It's not much and it probably won't help, but it's _something_ and it'll hopefully make him drowsy enough to forget it all when it's over."

She stuck the needle in John’s arm and John winced. She was right. It did almost nothing except make him even more exhausted than he already was.

“I’m gonna wrap a bandage tight around your leg, okay? I have to deal with your side first but I can’t do that until the bleeding’s taken care of,” Caitlin said. John nodded.

She did it, quickly, skillfully. The bandage was tight and shockwaves of pain danced through his leg; stinging, sharp from where his leg was sliced open and nothing but _agony_ from where the bone had split. John hissed and all he could do was try and focus on Clarice’s hands on him, and her voice, a constant comfort.

Caitlin sighed. She walked round to crouch in front of John, next to Clarice. “I have to take this pole out now, John. It’s gonna hurt, a lot. What you need to do is try and relax and just focus on breathing, okay? I’ll be as quick as I can. Let yourself pass out if you need.” John nodded and braced himself while Caitlin turned to Lorna and Marcos. “You’re gonna have to hold him down,” she told them quietly. They looked at one another, hearts sinking, and nodded stiffly.

When Caitlin told them to, Lorna pressed her hands on John’s shoulder and just above his wound while Marcos put his hands on John’s wrists, keeping him totally still. He wasn’t used to being restrained. Marcos and Lorna weren’t used to being able to restrain him. None of them liked it.

Marcos crouched and began to help Clarice keep him distracted, but when Caitlin touched the pole and pulled away the jacket John couldn’t understand a word they said or care about their touch.

His vision whited out for a few seconds. When it cleared and Caitlin was gripping the pole, ready to pull with one hand planted firmly on his hip, John gasped and _needed_ to but wasn’t able to tell her to stop - he couldn’t do it, if it hurt this much with her just _touching_ it how could he bear her pulling it out-

She pulled.

It slid out easily, slick with blood as it was. John _screamed_. His body jolted. Marcos and Lorna tightened their holds and he couldn’t move. It was nothing but excruciating pain, radiating from his side like spreading fire. All he could do for a long few seconds was scream.

With a _clank_ the metal tumbled to the floor.

The pain didn’t stop. His back arched. He howled until the breath left him and he could no longer make a noise while beside him Clarice covered her mouth and whimpered, one hand on his arm.

John fought against Marcos and Lorna, trying to curl in on himself, keep Caitlin from touching his side again or letting it be exposed to the air, but he wasn’t strong enough. “Nhhh…” he moaned, curling his fingers round the blanket with a desperation he hadn’t felt before.

“It’s okay, it’s done,” Caitlin said, not only to John but also the panicking Lorna, Marcos and Clarice. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothed. She put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently, waiting while her own heartbeat raced.

Gradually, John could breathe again, relax marginally. His breath kept hitching and his fingers twitched, but the pain was dying down to more manageable levels. Still excruciating, unbearable, but less than before.

John was still panting and sweating, but Caitlin couldn’t stop now. All that would do was prolong the inevitable; better to get it over with quickly. She nodded to Lorna and Marcos who tightened their hands on John again, keeping him still, and with a quick warning of, “Just a little disinfecting,” she poured some of the liquid directly over the wound.

John reacted violently, his whole body jerking while he let out a loud, frantic cry of pain. “No, no, no, please,” he begged mindlessly.

Marcos and Lorna tightened their hold, Clarice murmured a constant stream of comforts, “You’re okay, it’s okay, keep still, it’ll be over in a second,” and Caitlin turned and, quickly, took the bandage back off his leg and poured more over the mess of blood and flesh.

John screamed, his head pressing into the pillow and his hands white-knuckled in the bed covers. “ _Please_ …” he breathed.

“Okay, it’s done, I’m sorry, that’s it,” Caitlin assured. She scrambled back, held up her hands, didn’t touch him.

For a few tense moments, John panted, eyes tight shut as his wounds stung _bad_. No one spoke but Clarice. “Just breathe through it, okay? Focus on my voice, don’t think about anything else except breathing.”

He lay there frozen, not daring to move for fear of the pain intensifying. John hissed and breathed only shallowly for a long time.

Finally, he relaxed.

Lorna and Marcos let go of him shakily and, under Caitlin’s instruction, Lorna pressed a clean towel to both sides of the wound again and applied firm pressure. John moaned, gripped the side of the bed. The world swam in front of him when he opened his eyes. He was so utterly exhausted. He wasn’t sure if he could take much more.

“I’ll stitch that up but first I have to take care of your leg, okay? It’s going to hurt again and I’m sorry, but I’ll be as quick as I can. Let yourself pass out if you need to,” Caitlin said.

John nodded tiredly.

The second she touched his leg, John stiffened and his breath hitched. When she started pressing, feeling for the breaks, and agony shot through him, he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t go through the pain all over again. He’d felt too much pain that day after having felt none for almost his entire life, and his body couldn’t handle it.

He gasped, unable to scream. Caitlin’s fingers moved.

_It was too much._

John’s head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. Finally he escaped into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

There was a sharp, stinging pain in his arm.

John frowned and turned his face further into the pillow, letting out a low groan and trying instinctively to pull his arm away from whatever was happening to it. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a voice said softly, right next to his face, while a hand gripped his elbow and kept his arm still. He couldn’t fight it, for once in his life.

He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, Clarice was beside him, one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Caitlin was on his other side - she was the one who had grabbed his arm and was making it sting; she held a needle in her hand, and thread connected it to the long cut on John’s arm. He winced, looked away. He didn’t want to see that.

“Try stay still okay? I’m just stitching this, then I’ll treat your head wound and it’ll be done. The worst is over now,” Caitlin soothed, going back to her stitches as she spoke.

John nodded, wincing as the needle sunk in and out of his flesh. “Hey, don’t think about it,” Clarice said. “Look at me.” She carded her fingers through his hair, rubbed his temple with her thumb and he couldn’t help leaning in. His head was pounding and her touch was the most perfect relief, like nothing he’d ever felt before. He realised, with a jolt, he actually _hadn’t_ felt anything like it before. His skin usually made everything seem… dull, like he was being touched through four layers of clothes, but now everything was sharp and - apart from the pain - felt _good_. He turned his head towards Clarice and tried to ignore what Caitlin was doing, to focus on Clarice’s hands on him. “You’re okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay.”

Marcos appeared beside Clarice and immediately gripped John’s hand and squeezed. “You good, buddy?”

John nodded slowly. Words were taking a long time to make sense. “Ev’ryone else?” he asked.

Marcos and Clarice shared a look that John was too tired to decipher. “You already asked that, man. Everyone’s fine. Don’t worry,” he said as Clarice rubbed John’s shoulder.

The needle hit something sensitive in his arm and pain sparked, making his fingers twitch, making him flinch away, drawing a quiet groan from him. “Sorry, sorry,” Caitlin said, her hand back on his elbow. “Almost done.”

John nodded tiredly and took a deep breath. Marcos squeezed his hand again, and then let go entirely and stood stiffly. “I’ll be back soon, I’m gonna help Lorna look for painkillers.” And he left.

“All right, I’m done,” Caitlin said, finally. She wrapped his arm in bandages and let it go. “Those stitches - all the stitches I’ve used - are dissolvable, so we can get that collar off as soon as I’ve treated your head wound.” It was a testament to how out of it John was that he hadn’t even _noticed_ the collar round his neck, despite its bulk. Though maybe it was because, he noticed, he had two pillows. “I don’t think this will need stitches, you’ll be happy to hear,” said Caitlin, peering at his head from where she sat. “I’ll just disinfect it and make sure, but I think butterfly strips should do fine. How you feeling? Are you warm enough? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

John opened his mouth to speak, breathed in, and all hell broke loose.

Dust from the building was caught in his throat and the second he tried to draw a breath a cough surged up instead, and then suddenly he couldn’t stop. Inhaling again drew more coughs that tore his side in half as his muscles tensed and the stitches pulled.

His world narrowed to pain and panic. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he needed to sit up but _couldn’t_ , couldn’t cough enough to get rid of the dust choking him and the pain from his side was _too much_ from the strain.

One hand fisted in the blanket, the other reached to protect his side but someone grabbed his wrist before it could.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe-

“John, listen to me, you need to take deep breaths, okay?” said a firm voice next to him. Caitlin’s. “Try and relax and breathe, nice and slow and easy.”

John’s breath only rattled through his chest and burst out from his mouth and there was no way he could relax and breathe.

A pillow was pushed onto his front suddenly, Caitlin’s voice saying, “Press on this,” and he obeyed the second the hand let go of his wrist. That was better, applying counter pressure to his front, but his lungs were still betraying him and his side was relentlessly excruciating.

When finally it was over and his breath died to a wheeze and his chest rose and fell somewhat evenly, John’s hands fell limply back to the bed and the pillow went tumbling to the floor, and all he could do was look blearily up at Clarice, utterly exhausted. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she took his hand and held it and pushed her fingers back into his hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she whispered, bowing her head to his level.

It felt like he’d been split in two. His side was agony and his muscles ached like they’d never done before. He was panting like he’d run a marathon, sweating and shaking, but the relief of it being over was almost overwhelming everything else. While Clarice held him, Caitlin put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Soon as I’m done disinfecting this and the collar’s off, you can go back to sleep. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

John nodded, grateful.

The sting of the disinfectant on his forehead was nothing compared to what he’d just had to endure, and the exhaustion seemed to numb the pain somewhat. In no time, as promised, Caitlin had cleaned his head wound and sealed it with butterfly strips.

“I’ll go grab Lorna,” she said, scrambling to her feet and giving Clarice a nod before scurrying down the stairs.

“You with me?” Clarice said.

“Course,” John said hoarsely.

“You cold?” she asked. “You didn’t got a chance to answer,” she added with a wince.

He looked at her, despite his eyes refusing to fully focus, and nodded. Half his clothes had been torn off and the base didn’t have any sort of heating, and he suspected blood loss wasn’t helping with the temperature.

Without letting go of his hand, Clarice reached behind her and grabbed the fluffy red blanket John knew she liked to use. She had to let go then to stand and carefully manoeuvre the blanket onto the parts of his body that didn’t hurt - mainly his right side - but then pressed her hand back into his and sat back down on the floor next to him.

Caitlin, Lorna and Marcos then returned, the latter two holding nothing resembling painkillers, but John wasn’t surprised.

“No luck with the painkillers,” Lorna announced, sighing.

Caitlin eyed the collar with disgust. “All we can do now is get that godforsaken thing off and let him rest.”

“Will it hurt him?” Clarice asked. “To get his powers back while he’s like this? And what if it goes wrong? Electrocutes him, or something?”

Lorna shrugged. “This one’s different to the one I had. It suppresses powers completely, so I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t even need it to be able to electrocute. Hopefully. But we can’t just leave it on, because who knows what it could be doing, or might do?” Clarice nodded, but the worry didn’t ease from her face. “Besides, having his powers back might help him heal. Who knows. But I’m taking it off unless he tells me not to.”

She crouched beside him, opposite Clarice, and John turned to her, nodded his head. “Want it _off_ ,” he murmured. Besides the fact that it was the thing that got him in that situation in the first place, John knew they couldn’t risk having _any_ piece of Sentinel Services tech in their base. It had already been functioning long enough.

So Lorna stood, Clarice let go of him and stepped back, and John braced himself.

She tore the collar clean in half in one quick flick of her hands.

John gasped.

They held their breaths as he lay tensed and in new amounts of pain. To him it felt like his whole body was shifting under his skin, moving like his very atoms were joining and becoming _solid_ together, which usually only felt odd, but with half his body torn open and bloody John could hardly bear it. His skin became more numb and he mourned the loss of being able to feel so much, feel Clarice’s touch, but then the pain lessened and he felt _normal_ again.

He relaxed, let out a breath.

“You good?”

John nodded.

The others sagged with relief, Lorna dumped the remains of the collar onto the floor with a clatter.

“Okay.” Caitlin came close to check his wounds one last time. “You can sleep now. Won’t be bothering you anymore,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender and stepping away. “Just bed rest from here on out, really.”

“We’ll hold down the fort while you’re out, so don’t worry, okay? I know what you’re like,” Lorna added, smirking and dragging a chair over to his side. John smiled, nodded, tried to show his gratitude, but his eyes were slipping shut and sleep was more tempting than trying to say something coherent.

And so, with his friends settling into chairs around him to keep watch, still clutching Clarice’s hand, he closed his eyes and slept.

 

* * *

 

John came to with a groan.

“John?” said a voice at his side, softly.

He squinted at the dim light, turned his head slowly, saw Clarice sat on a chair with her legs over the arm and fast asleep, next to Marcos who was equally so, and then Caitlin, awake with a book and looking at him. “Hey,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse. He frowned. “Wha’s going on?” he slurred.

Caitlin sat up and brought her chair forward, a frown tugging at her. “You got hurt, remember?”

And then, glimpsing behind her and seeing the bandage on Clarice’s arm, he remembered. The building, the pole, the collar, the _pain_. He looked down at himself. His waist was wrapped tight with white bandages, peeking out from the side of the blanket, as was his left arm from shoulder to elbow, while his leg… he figured Lorna had a hand in the metal cast encasing his leg from the knee down.

“I remember,” he said, and turned back to her. “You did this?”

She nodded. “I had some help.” She smiled and gestured to Marcos and Clarice, and Lorna snoozing in a chair on the other side of his bed. “Are you in much pain? We found some oral painkillers if you’re up for it, but they aren’t going to be very effective,” she said with a wince.

“No, no thanks,” he said quickly. Just the thought of moving enough to take pills made his side ache. Besides, he felt unconsciousness dragging him back, and that was as good a painkiller as any.

She must’ve sensed that. “You should get some rest.”

He nodded, closed his eyes. “Thank you, Caitlin, for everything,” he murmured, before darkness took over.

“You’re very welcome,” she said, and he was out.

 

* * *

 

A week and a half later, John was sat on the edge of his bed, his hand pressing on the bandage on his side and his casted leg resting uselessly on the floor. Two crude metal crutches that Lorna had made leaned on either side of him.

“You don’t have to try if it hurts,” Clarice said, standing by and watching with a worried frown. “I could just portal you to the chair.”

“No, it’s okay just, just give me a second,” John said, bowing his head and breathing deep through the pain. She nodded, waited. She put a hand on his shoulder and winced when she caught sight of his other hand, white knuckled on the bed, and then, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Course. Just a couple of steps,” he said, glancing unsurely at the armchair a few feet away. He reached up and gripped the top of the crutches, and started to stand, slowly. Clarice’s hands hovered, ready and willing to catch him if he fell but knowing full well that she wouldn’t be able to. John voiced this, and she scoffed.

“Well, consider me as moral support,” she said. Her smirk turned back to a wince once he straightened and his side sent shockwaves of pain through him. John nearly crumpled and gave up, but he closed his eyes, leaned over to favour his left side, and stayed standing. “You good?” Clarice said.

After a moment, he nodded. “Let’s hope these crutches hold my weight,” John said. He tentatively moved the crutches forward and took a clumsy step. It worked. His hissed out a breath at the movement and took a second to collect himself, but when he glanced back at Clarice they were both grinning.

After that it was only a matter of John taking wobbly, still-not-yet-fully-trusting-of-the-crutches steps and Clarice walking beside with her hands still hovering around him. “You’re doing super great,” Clarice said. “Just like riding a bike. Except walking. With multiple wounds. And crutches. So _not_ like riding a bike.” John paused, raised his eyebrows with a smirk. Clarice raised her hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say I was _good_ at being moral support.”

John laughed. “You’re not bad at it.”

Finally John reached the chair and collapsed into it, letting the crutches clatter to the floor. He was sweaty and shaking from the effort, but he was there and he’d done it. Clarice perched herself on the arm of the chair and grinned at him. “Way to go,” she said. “No way you could’ve done _that_ without me.”

John laughed. “Thank you, Clarice.”

She scoffed. “I’m kidding. I didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t mean just for that.” He looked up at her. “For _everything_. I meant what I said back there, in the building. If it wasn’t for you I’d be in a prison in the back end of nowhere right now, or dead,” he said firmly. Clarice opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “The building collapsing was an accident, and not your fault. I can’t have you blaming yourself for any of this. You saved my life.”

Clarice looked away. “Seeing you lying there like that… I was so sure you were gonna die, John. And I knew it would’ve been my fault. Sure, Sentinel Services wouldn’t have been any better, but it was _my_ mistake that brought down that building and _my_ mistake that got you hurt.”

“Clarice,” John said. “It was an _accident_. You can’t blame yourself for an accident, especially not one that happened while you were saving my life, and while you had just a couple of _seconds_ to think of what to do. You did an amazing thing. You are the only reason I’m sitting here next to you, safe and healing and able to fight another day.”

She didn’t say anything for a while. Her eyebrows were scrunched into a deep frown and she stared at John’s leg in its cast while he waited and watched her.

“All right,” she said slowly. “All _right_.”

John released a breath. “You don’t blame yourself anymore?”

Clarice bit her lip and faced him fully. Her eyes skated over the wound on his forehead, down to his side, to his arm and his leg, and for a moment John was afraid that frown would return, but then she exhaled. “No. I guess I can agree… maybe, that it was an accident. Still _my_ accident and you suffered from it, but sure. Just an accident. Not my fault.”

That wasn’t quite what John was hoping for and Clarice spoke like she didn’t really believe it yet, like the notion would need some time to get used to, but John grinned. It was a start. “Great.”

She lightly punched him on his good arm. “Now that _that’s_ over with, you wanna watch a movie? You’ve got a lot of free time so now you can _finally_ catch up on DC.” She pulled a USB stick out of nowhere and shook it tantalisingly. “I’ve got a copy of Justice League,” she sang, wiggling her eyebrows.

John laughed. “Sure.”

Clarice grabbed her laptop, bundled herself into the chair next to him, and pressed play. And that’s how they stayed, until two movies later they moved to the bed, then fell asleep halfway through the third.

John woke first as Clarice’s laptop began to slip off the bed. He caught it without jostling her, set it on the floor. She was bundled in his arms and looked far too peaceful to be woken up, not that John wanted to do so. He smiled, shifted a little, tugged the blanket around them both, and closed his eyes again.

He slept peacefully for the first time in a while, happy in the knowledge that they were all safe, at least for now.


End file.
